


Inertia

by FroldGapp



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Season/Series 06, Romance, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-19 16:59:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15514380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FroldGapp/pseuds/FroldGapp
Summary: The paladins make their return to Earth and while the others revel in their homecoming, Keith feels as though he's never been away. But things don't stand still, and he doesn't realise how close to being loved he really is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Get at me on tumblr! https://froldgapp.tumblr.com

Earth is a marble in the distance. So small and perfect; alone in all the universe being the place they, the five of them, call home. It feels like an age since they left; all a little smaller in body and in heart. They have changed. They know it. The scars across their bodies sing it keenly. But Earth; gleaming in blues and greens, wreathed in white cloud, shines like a fresh tomorrow: like a safer, purer yesterday.

Lance’s voice is thick through the intercom when he says, ‘There she is.’

Black rumbles deeply from the core of Keith’s spine and he hears the other lions answer in kind, Red as sharp as a pin. He shudders once, twice in his seat. Allura issues a throaty laugh, and Keith hears Blue in it; eager for the other lions to see this battered, beautiful rock on which she rested for so long. He reaches out to her and feels her bright coolness race between his fingers. _Thank you, thank you_ , she's saying. Keith thinks of those cave paintings and the stretches of night when her song filled his whole head and drew him naked and stumbling into the desert. He sighs. It seems like a lifetime ago. He supposes it is.

There’s shuffling behind him followed by footsteps punctuated with heavy, steel-toed boots. Krolia’s hand finds the top of Keith’s shoulder and squeezes the plating of his armour, but she says nothing. Shiro joins them, stretching with a yawn, and stands just to Keith’s left. A jealous Uchu muzzles her way between them with a series of grunts.

The four of them watch Earth hang in the distance for a while. Something slippery uncoils in Keith's belly. He swallows thickly. ‘It looks just the same,’ he says.

Shiro says nothing. Uchu, never one to let a mood pass without remark, yips at him and munches down on his vambrace. Shiro pats her absentmindedly. Turning in his seat, Keith pries his wolf away from Shiro. She doesn’t mind, just as happy to nibble on Keith’s fingers.

‘Shiro,’ Keith prompts. ‘Are you okay?’ With a small shake of his head, Shiro frees himself of whatever thoughts are eating at him. ‘Yeah,’ he answers through a harried sigh. ‘Just… A lot’s happened. A lot’s going to happen. We’re not even done. How can we even begin to explain...’

Krolia reaches an arm around Shiro, dwarfing even him with her height. ‘You have to take the wins where you can get them, Shiro. We’re alive. That’s enough for now.’

Shiro stares at her. Takashi Shirogane, garrison hot shot, as cordial and parent-proof as he is talented, has trouble speaking to Keith’s mother. It’s been an interesting development. He calls her ma’am, and when she doesn’t answer, Ms Krolia, which makes her sputter with laughter and mutter about _Earthlings_. In her presence, he manages to knock over any item not bolted down and occasionally chokes on nothing but air. Closely related to these phenomena is the troubled history between his boots and Uchu’s paws. The wolf is forgiving, but only to a point. More than one boot has found itself the victim of her strong jaws.

But here, something is wrong. Shiro's hands jitter until they clasp the back of the chair. His eyes are distant and dark. Shiro is already drowning in Earth’s blue waters. Keith’s heart stutters in his chest. His right hand curls around Black’s joystick, gloves creaking. He needs a distraction.

‘Hey, Shiro,’ Keith says, unclipping himself and slipping from the seat. The belt is hardly needed, cruising as they are, but it’s habit more than anything. ‘Why don’t you take over Black? My eyes are burning.’ Krolia and Shiro look at him, the latter incredulous. Keith shrugs. ‘Let’s see if you can ace a better landing this time. Since last time, you know,...’ He whistles and lowers one hand into the other palm, ending it with an unimpressive  _Byoof!_ to mark the explosion.

Shiro rolls his eyes and, not before a cautious pause, steps around the chair, dropping into it with a great puff of air. There's a tense moment when the cockpit dims, but Keith brooks no argument here and Black knows it. The panel flares to life in the next moment. Keith reaches forward and clicks Shiro’s belt into place. Their armour clacks together as he works, and somehow, even through that thick Altean material, he feels Shiro’s vast  _aliveness_ as sharply as ever. His mother is right. It’s enough. They’re alive. It’s more than enough.

‘Your mom know how much of a brat you are?’ Shiro mutters at Keith who grins back at him. They’re so close Keith can count the freckles that trace Shiro’s cheeks from temple to nose.

‘Who do you think I get it from?’ he chuckles. Uchu barks, eyes darting between the two, Keith’s greatest cheerleader. 'Well, thanks for taking o–'

'You're still the least smooth person I've ever met,' Shiro laughs.

'That obvious, huh?'

Black eyes glint razor sharp, but Shiro swallows back his words. Though his quiet smile is fond as he looks away, back towards the panel and Earth beyond.

‘Come on, you.’ Keith nudges the wolf by her scruff towards the back of the cockpit. She dances around him the whole way there, her uncanny yellow eyes leaving streaks in the dark room.

Shortly after, his mother joins them. She lowers herself down beside Keith. Her fingers push through Uchu’s thick mane who closes her eyes with content. The neon fur fizzes like spring water. ‘You can’t worry him to safety all the time, Keith.’

'I don't –! It's not -!' Keith chokes back his outburst. He searches the space between their feet, gathering himself. ‘It’s worked so far, hasn’t it?’ he says after a time, quietly. Glumly. Under her golden gaze, he feels a child.

‘Has it?’ she returns, not unkindly.

He huffs, loosening his chest plate and pulling it over his head. Holding it between his hands, he thinks he can still see the dents there from where the violet, violent arm struck for death, though he knows that’s impossible. They’ve long been mended. His voice is scarcely above a whisper when he says, ‘We’re alive. That’s what you said.’ His chest feels too tight.

His mother hums in the back of her throat and peels her eyes from him and towards the back of the pilot’s chair. Just as Keith suspects the conversation is over, she speaks. ‘I will go to your father’s Mound of Final Sleep when we return. I… have things… I have things I wish to say.’ Keith nods, pursing his lips. ‘You will be okay?’ his mother prompts, nudging him with her arm. ‘Coming home can be lonely. People don’t ask the right questions and often we don’t have the words to answer them even if they did.’

Making a face, Keith smirks up at her. ‘Were you always this cryptic?’

She plants a kiss to his forehead. Her smile is as broad as a galaxy. ‘Just trying to own this space mom thing.’

A grumble, ‘You’ve been spending too much time with Lance.’

Leaning back and pillowing her head on folded arms, Krolia smiles with closed eyes. ‘The first thing I’ll do is order a milkshake.’

'Sure. Can't wait to see how that works out in the Garrison canteen.'

She swats at him and, roughly, pulls him against her shoulder by the head. 'You'll come with me?'

Keith's eyes drift to Shiro's back.

'It's okay,' his mother says. 'You don't have to.'

The lion continues its steady glide forwards, Earth growing beyond the screen. The panels beyond Shiro’s hands alight in tones of purple as a voice echoes through the cockpit. ‘We’re being hailed!’ Pidge cries. ‘I think it’s dad!’ ‘Paladins of Voltron, this is Planet Earth. Welcome home. Welcome home!’


	2. Chapter 2

Keith realises he is dosing, but he’s tired enough not to care. Memories shimmer in front of him, while the steady rise and fall of Uchu’s chest against his thigh tethers him to the waking world. Barely. Mumbled voices drift back from the pilot’s chair and he smiles at the thought of Shiro attempting small talk with his mother. Then the sound comes, clear as a bell: Shiro’s laughter, but it’s not in the cockpit where he guides Black with confident precision, it’s in the Garrison. Keith is fifteen, sporting a magnificent spot on his chin and busting to take a piss. Between him and the sweet relief of an enamel urinal is a red swing door and the voices of two Garrison instructors, one of them Shiro, the other Adam. _The_ Adam: Shiro’s partner and the target of many a Garrison student’s aggrieved musings. Keith pauses, hand resting on the puckered metal plate where the letters ‘P’ and ‘H’ have been erased from “Push”.

‘I’m sorry,’ Shiro says, though his laughter suggests otherwise. He makes a weak attempt to keep it in, but it sputters out in something approaching a squeal. ‘I’m sorry.’

A heavy sigh and the sound of paper towels being roughly tugged from the dispenser: ‘How can a man so clumsy be a pilot...’

‘Maybe nobody will notice.’

‘I’m surrounded by teenagers. _Everyone_ will notice. And they’ll persecute me. They have the nose for blood.’

‘Maybe it’ll dry off. You know… all that hot air you’re blowing...’

Keith snickers through his nose.

‘I have a class, like, _now_ , Takashi.’

As though bitten by a sudden electric charge, Keith snatches his hand back from the metal plate. He stares, baffled at the revelation. _Takashi. Takashi Shirogane. Shirogane Takashi._ He drifts away from the door but immediately it shunts open and Adam is tripping over him, the impact sending Keith spinning.

‘Oh, hey, little man,’ Adam says. ‘Didn’t see you.’

‘Sorry,’ Keith mumbles, feeling caught out.

Adam smiles. ‘My fault,’ he says, and marches down the corridor with a backwards wave.

Keith swallows and considers using the bathroom after all, but this new information fizzes on his tongue and he doesn’t think he can face Shiro without combusting. Hands in pockets, he ambles down the corridor with those three perfectly formed syllables buzzing in his head: _Ta-ka-shi._

Later, exhausted and sticking to his bedsheets with the sweat of an airless summer, he rolls the name around his mouth and past dry lips, testing it, feeling how it would sound; a little package of meaning and history from his mouth to Shiro’s soul. ‘Takashi.’

‘Keith?’ It’s his mother. He breathes into wakefulness. ‘Belt up, kid. We’re landing.’

OoO

Keith’s small touches to the waist, the shoulder, the hip, guide Shiro down the long ramp of Black’s maw towards the steaming asphalt of the garrison airstrip. Though some of his strength has returned, Shiro still has bouts of dizziness; strongest when tired or anxious, underfed or distracted. His recovery is long, and will continue to be so. The universe seems hell bent on proving his humanity by testing it relentlessly. With the sun – _Earth’s_ sun, _finally_ – beating down from above, Shiro is far from steady on his feet. The mass of orange and grey uniforms below swarm, cheering. Shiro halts, heading drawing back like a spooked horse.

‘You okay?’ Keith asks quietly.

Taking a steadying breath through his nose, Shiro nods and they continue, slower now. Uchu flanks Shiro’s other side, glancing up at him frequently with rueful eyes. His mother has already left, eager to avoid the Garrison and all its pomp. And pomp there is: streamers, a band, banners, balloons, the occasional hoot of a former classmate. More than a few faces are suspicious or scared, but anticipation vibrates from every pushing, prodding guest. It’s just as well Coran and Allura won’t join them just yet. Flying lions are one thing, full-blooded aliens another.

In the throng, a face appears and a single hand waves.

‘Adam,’ Shiro gasps and stumbles.

Keith catches him immediately by the crook of his elbow. Uchu bumps her head against his other leg, issuing a small _mruff_ of concern. Shiro taps her head with the fingers of his left hand. ‘It’s okay,’ he says. Neither Keith nor the wolf seem very convinced.

‘I’m fine,’ he says. ‘Just… a shock.’

There is nothing Keith can say. He realises with sudden, blistering clarity that they really are _home._ And what has home ever been but a place he wasn’t right for? He shrinks inside his paladin armour. He feels fifteen again; spotted-chin, hands in pockets.

Their boots barely make a sound when they reach the runway. Cheers erupt around them as Iverson strides forward with the rest of the command. Sam Holt ignores all protocol and races forward to scoop Pidge up into his arms. Colleen Holt breaks free from the crowd and collides with them in a flurry of kisses and tears. Matt joins in, throwing his arms all three of them. They break the hug, but continue to cling to each other as Iverson addresses them.

‘Well,’ he says, eyeing each of them in turn. ‘Welcome back, cadets.’ His eyes wander to Keith. There’s a shocked beat, but he masters his features again in the next moment. ‘Kogane.’

‘Sir!’ the “cadets” roar.

‘Welcome home,’ he continues. ‘You’ve done us proud, so we’d like to do a little something for you.’ He gestures behind him and a sergeant appears bearing a tray with four boxes. Popping open the lid of the first box, a bright gold medal on a mount of blue velvet is revealed. ‘For your service,’ he says.

Keith stands, eyes forward, as the ribbons are draped over the heads of each of the paladins. The burnished medals burn against their chest plates. _You’re used to this_ , he tells himself. _This is nothing new._

‘Eh… sir?’ Hunk asks, fingers twisting. ‘Keith Kogane is one of us… he’s our… he’s actually sort of our leader.’

Iverson looks first at Hunk, then – bizarrely – to Shiro. Shiro is barely there, eyes half closed against the punishing sun. Iverson wipes his hands together and sucks on his teeth. Finally, he speaks, already walking away, leading them back towards a dias where a long conference table awaits them. ‘There is no Keith Kogane present at this academy, son.’

OoO

Hunk and Lance are jetted back to their families with the view to reconvene in a week. The Garrison is only happy to provide. Pidge and Matt have already been whisked off by an ecstatic Colleen and Sam Holt. “Goodbyes” are tearful and uncanny. It’s hard to let go. It feels like coming up from underwater. Keith’s lungs struggle to expand. It’s just the heat. No processed air. No visor. Just the Earth and its breathable, miraculous cocktail.

Alone save the staff clearing up the last of the shining confetti, Keith, Shiro and Adam are kicking up dust waiting for the final convoy. Uchu hasn’t been shy with Adam on meeting him, almost knocking him over in an attempt to get a few kisses in. ‘She’s… _spirited_ ,’ Adam says. ‘Takes after him,’ Shiro mutters, throwing a thumb at Keith who is otherwise occupied prying pebbles from his boot with his blade. He can’t meet Adam’s eye and barely managed to shake his hand, so badly did his own shake. His bones feel all loose, his head a soup.

At last, their jeep arrives, stony-faced driver at the wheel. Adam helps Shiro in, mostly managing to work around a fussing Uchu. Shiro, exhausted and barely able to keep his eyes open, slumps against the far window. Adam calls his off-barracks address to the driver then turns to Keith who is half-way into the passenger seat.

‘Where are you headed, Keith?’

Emotions chase their way across Keith’s face; quick as the pages of a wind-blown book. He halts at the car door, right in front of Adam. ‘I…’ His eyes cant to Shiro over Adam’s shoulder, then to Uchu whose yellow eyes are fixed squarely on the driver’s sandwich lying half-exposed on the dashboard.

‘You have a place near here, right?’ prompts Adam, face open, polite.

‘I eh…’ Keith pulls in a breath and musters something like a smile. He drops back from the car door. ‘I’m going to hang back here, actually. Check on the lions.’

Adam smiles, bemused but well-used to the oddities of the wayward hot shot. ‘The lions. Right.’ He reaches to give Uchu a final pet, but she ducks from his hand and continues to eye up the sandwich. The driver follows her unnerving gaze and the window begins sliding up. The wolf, not to be deterred, begins to charge up, blue light dancing along her fur.

‘Uchu!’ Keith squawks, grabbing her by her ruff. ‘S-sorry. She eh… she’s very _wilful._ We’ll go getting.’ A grimace and a cough. ‘ _Get going_.’

‘Sure,’ says Adam lightly. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow, Keith. After Shiro’s had some rest.’

Keith nods, mouth pinched. He fell through space with this man in his arms, but how easily his fingers loosen at the slightest whisper of _unwelcome._ His scar burns. He feels more alien than ever, all the grit and resolve flaking from him like bark from a burnt tree. ‘Sure,’ he answers, at last. He pulls Uchu towards him, placing his hand across her eyes to shield the innocent sandwich from her. She _mruffs_ her displeasure, but otherwise behaves as Adam climbs into the jeep and pulls the door shut with a loud bang. ‘Keith,’ he says. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after him. We’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Right,’ Keith says. ‘Tomorrow.’

Lying in the cramped, familiar space of Black’s cockpit, Keith can almost believe he is still in space; lost in those long, lonely nights before he found his mother. Uchu finishes lapping up some water and trots back to Keith’s sad nest of emergency blankets, a jacket for a pillow. She drops herself down in front of him with an explosive sigh.

‘Just me and you, girl,’ says Keith, sad for himself, for what he thought those first few moments back on Earth might be, and how quickly the past stole them away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get at me! froldgapp.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

_I love you._

There are birds squabbling on the balcony outside when Shiro wakes; small brown sparrows that dance around the feeder, pecking at each other. He watches them mindlessly for a while, eyes slipping closed and easing open again as he emerges from a warm and fretless sleep. A fat chick sits on the balcony wall, flapping its wings and complaining hungrily at its mother who pecks up seed while simultaneously fending off other sparrows. Shiro smiles lazily, huffing through his nose. He’s always loved common birds. It hasn’t even occurred to him to miss them until now. He’d have gone mad, he muses, if he’d thought about the tininess of birds in the Imperial Arena.

And there it is: the realisation. He is home. He is home in a house he knew a lifetime ago. Adam’s house. The taupe walls, simple pine furnishings, cobalt-blue potted aloe and monstera plants, and the over enthusiastic philodendron that spills across a faded and framed _Paris is Burning_ poster. His poster. There was a time, before space and lions and death and undying, when this house was his as much as his own. The thought makes him queasy. He drags himself upright, fine linen sheet spilling into his lap. A radio plays Dusty Springfield’s “Just a Little Lovin’” from the kitchen. Just as well. It’s time to face the music.

‘You’re up,’ Adam says in his direct, dry way, when Shiro slips into the kitchen. Standing at the stove sauteing onions, he directs a wooden spoon at the pan. ‘Bet you're hungry. Bread’s baking. Coffee’s on the table. There's no cream and sugar, I'm afraid. I assume you still have a horrible sweet tooth.’

Shiro chuckles. ‘I am and I do.’ He pads across the floor in his boxers and a shirt, scratching at his belly. He drops himself onto a stool at the breakfast bar and almost leaves his body all over again at the rich smell of coffee. He pours himself a cup, wishing he could hold it between both hands. He notices the blankets piled up on the couch where Adam must have slept, but doesn’t remark.

‘You sleep all right? I’m poaching by the way. Hope that’s okay.’ Adam reaches over and expertly cracks four eggs into a simmering pot of water. ‘Almost done here.’

‘I –’ The domesticity is abruptly overwhelming. Adam, the egg maker and heartbreaker. He was going to marry this man. He loved this man. This man who was not at the launch. The final, damning conversation is clear and bright when Shiro prods at the memory like a tongue probing a painful tooth. But Shiro, pro-compartmentaliser, sips at his coffee and nods. ‘I did.’ He purses his lips and fails to meet Adam's fleeting glance of concern. ‘This coffee is amazing. More than amazing.’

‘No coffee in space?’ laughs Adam, scraping the onions into a bowl and flipping open the lid of the bread maker. The smell of freshly baked bread is sinful.

‘Nope,’ says Shiro. ‘Just goo.’

Another laugh, surprised. Cynical. ‘Goo?’

‘Yeah, I mean. Like a… kind of a… sustenance… I mean…’

Adam turns and waits as Shiro attempts to stutter out an explanation. The pot begins to boil over and Adam returns his attention to the eggs. ‘Sounds fun,’ he says, like a father humouring a blabbering child.

A plate laden with tomatoes, mushrooms, greens, bacon, eggs and capers, bread and potatoes is placed in front of Shiro.

‘Enjoy,’ says Adam. ‘It’s no goo, but… Oh Shiro.’

Shiro, knife in his left hand, is making a bad show of spreading butter on his bread. It scrapes around the plate, shoving oily mushrooms off the edge and onto the granite tabletop. He pulls his upper lip between his teeth and pushes a calming breath through his nose. He wishes Adam would crack a window. His shirt is beginning to cling to him and beyond the window the morning looks crisp and vital.

Adam tuts and slips around from his seat. ‘Let me.’ He gives Shiro’s shoulder a squeeze and lifts the knife from his hand.

‘Those kids really shot up,’ Adam speaks absently as he spreads butter. ‘Even Gunders– Holt.’ He picks up the fork and begins cutting up the bread and bacon. 'There!' he grins, a little shakily, and returns to his place. 'Keith looks well. Different. I'm sure he was thrilled to have you in close quarters up there.'

The name is a klaxon that makes him feel dizzy where he sits. The savage new scar hangs like an after image in front of him. _He's fine._ Shiro closes his eyes and raises the mug to his mouth with a shaky hand. ‘Where is Keith?’ he asks.  _He’s fine_ , he tells himself again and again. He tries to recall leaving the black lion, but all he sees is crowds and sun flares, a desert rushing past a dirty jeep window. ‘I guess he went to meet his mom? I was so out of it when we left...’ _He’s fine. He’s fine._

Adam stops and raises incredulous eyes to Shiro. ‘His mom? Shiro, isn’t Keith… Isn't he an orphan or close to it? His mom skidaddled, no?’

Distracted, Shiro sucks down another burning mouthful of coffee. ‘Something like that… She's...’  _An alien._ It's not his news to tell and more than that, there is something in the plainness of the morning and Adam's forced homeliness that gives Shiro pause. Would he understand? Would the Garrison?

‘I didn't see anyone that might have been his mom. Asked him to tag along but kid hung back to watch the lions or something. He’s still as glum as I remember. Guess he –’

‘Can you drive me back?’

Adam sputters. ‘Back? Shiro, you just woke up. You need to rest. Your arm...’

Shiro is already dropping from his stool. His new kit bag is leaning against the wall, Garrison fatigues peeping out. He strides over to it and pulls out a pair of joggers. ‘I have to go back. Can you drive me back?’ There is no response, so he looks up and asks again, voice edging into panic as he struggles into the joggers.

‘Shiro…’ Adam entreats, mouth gaping like a fish. He gestures at the breakfast. ‘You have to eat.’

‘I have to go.’ He can't pull the drawstring closed.

‘Keith is fine. You're  _not._ Look at you, you can barely dress yourself. Youneed to eat and rest.’

'I need to see if he's okay.'

'Keith is fine,' Adam blusters. 'I thought you'd both have grown out of this by now. Your project is fine. He chose to be alone, Shiro.'

‘I want to go, Adam. Will you drive me? _Please?_ ’

Adam’s cheeks and neck are red. He sucks in a breath and raises his eyes to the ceiling. ‘I’m not driving you anywhere until you look after yourself.'

'I want to go. I'm going.' Shiro says, growling when the pants slip again. He yanks on the drawstring and tucks it down his front.

' _God damn it,_ Shiro!’ Adam slams his hand down on the granite bar top. The plates jump. The kitchen becomes a vacuum. Even the birds outside seem to have been startled off.

Shiro watches Adam with steady eyes, turns and picks up his bag. Eyes burning, as if he hadn’t slept at all, he trudges to the door.

Adam snorts, disbelieving. ‘You’re in the middle of the desert. You can’t walk there!' He snatches up both plates and begins shunting still-steaming food into the bin. 'You’re… You haven’t changed at all! You’re impossible.’

'Okay,' says Shiro.

'Impossible. What a waste.'

'Okay.'

'You don't know what's good for you.'

Shiro hefts the bag on his shoulder and unlatches the door. ‘Goodbye, Adam.’

OoO

Shiro learns something that day. In her own way and for entirely personal, non-war related reasons, Red is a powerful advocate and one he’s happy to have on his side. Black, majestic against the red mountains surrounding the Garrison needs some convincing before she lets him in. Standing with a greasy bag of doughnuts in his hand, skin red from the strengthening sun and already dripping with sweat, Shiro begins to panic that he’ll have to wait out the morning until Keith wakes up. A few Garrison students have started collecting along the perimeter fence where the lions are sealed off. Some wave, others stare. There are more than a couple _I love yous._ He appeals to Red, whose eyes light up at once. A hardy knock of her head to Black’s shoulder, and the larger lion lowers her impressive maw. ‘I wish you ate doughnuts,’ Shiro says to the red lion as he climbs the ramp. ‘I owe you one.’ Red rumbles and draws her head up again, eyes powering down; first one, then the other. Shiro considers it a wink.

Black’s interior is cool, her lights pulsing dimly. It is utterly silent. Shiro makes his way up the familiar channel towards the cockpit, careful not to make a noise. The cockpit door hisses upwards. The space within is much darker, the lights a sombre glow. A pair of yellow eyes blink at Shiro who makes a shushing noise and brings his finger to his lips. The bag of doughnuts crinkles and he flinches. Uchu’s thick ruff shimmers with mild bioluminescence. She’s excited. For food or Shiro, it’s hard to tell. Her tail thumps once. She licks her chops.

‘Hey,’ Shiro whispers. ‘Shhh.’

She _mruffs_ without much gusto and lowers her head to a mound of blankets. There, curled against her, is Keith. Shiro’s heart fissures. ‘Oh, Keith,’ he sighs.

Dark hair spills like ink across one outstretched arm, while the other lies against the wolf, fingers buried in her fur. In a little pile near his head are empty energy bar wrappers and a squeezed-dry juice box. Simple emergency blankets are piled on top of him and clumped around his waist where Uchu’s dark muzzle rests. His exposed back is corded with knotted muscle, criss-crossed with various scars that gleam in the low light. Now that Shiro knows Keith’s Galra heritage, the tell-tale signs are there: a narrow runner’s waist and shoulders broad like a swimmer's. Large, elegantly fingered hands, two broad, flat feet peeping out from under the blankets. An ability to sleep anywhere, in any position, bonelessly, as if poured onto the ground. It's a powerful body. One made to move and dance and charge and _survive._ This body has punished itself to save Shiro again and again. He remembers how solid, how strong this body felt as the not-him tackled it through space. He cannot see the scarred cheek, and for the moment, he's glad, selfishly.

Keith's trusty red jacket is a makeshift pillow. God, how he loathes that stupid jacket. Shiro laughs quietly through his nose.

_You love him._

His fingers spasm on the paper bag. Keith moans and turns onto his back. His neck is long and pale and lovely, his lashes dark and thick. Lips parted, Keith pulls in a breath that expands his whole chest and holds it. His eyes open before he breathes out again. They widen and cant to Shiro, chalky primrose then white again in a literal blink of the eye.

‘Shiro,’ he says, voice thick and deep. ‘Are you okay? Did something happen?’ He pushes himself onto his elbows and the blankets drop to reveal a hard plane of pale flesh, a criminal trail of dark hair.

Shiro’s stomach drops into his shoes. What he plans to say is _Yes, I am okay. No, nothing happened._ But what emerges instead is: ‘I brought nuts. Doughnuts!’

‘Doughnuts?’ Keith says, trying to fight off a roused and furiously licking Uchu from his face. She is relentless, forcing Keith to wrestle her away with toned arms and curling core.

‘Hot,’ replies Shiro. He closes his eyes: attempts composure. ‘They’re hot. The nuts.’ He wants to scream. ‘ _Doughnuts!’_

‘Thanks?’ Keith says sleepily. He accepts fate and lets Uchu bathe him in slobber. The wolf yips twice and buries him with her bulk. He makes a strangle _argh!_ noise and submits himself, though one hand emerges and makes grabby gestures. Shiro opens the bag and drops a doughnut into it. Keith reaches up and blindly shoves it into Uchu’s mouth. She scrabbles off him immediately and teleports into the far corner in a shower of sparks. Her fierce eyes are watchful lest Shiro try to reclaim the doughnut. ‘She's a big sugar fan. I'm sure she's not allowed that stuff, but...,’ Keith shrugs and climbs to his feet. The interior brightens with his luxurious stretch, just in time for Shiro to see the length of leg, the dramatic dip of the back, two deep dimples above the boxers that you could honest to God drink shots from.

Bones popped and hair shaken into an even more impressive mane, Keith ambles towards a gawking Shiro and smiles up at him, waiting for a hapless nod of permission before he digs into the bag for a doughnut. 'You didn't have to, but thanks. I'm starving.' He pulls a plain one out and pops it in his mouth.

He groans with pleasure, his eyes slipping closed on the first bite. He speaks around the doughnut, still clamped between his teeth. ‘This is am–’

‘I love you.’

Shiro, in his defense, is just as shocked as Keith at the words, but as he has yet to select his doughnut, he does not start choking, which Keith does presently.

Keith sucks on air but it clogs against the doughnut, kicking off a bout of violent coughing. Pieces of pastry fly free and spatter against the floor and Shiro’s shirt. Uchu doesn’t waste time in teleporting back and hoovering them up.

‘Oh my God!’ Shiro cries and throws himself at Keith who is doubled over and hacking. He thumps Keith’s back once, twice, three times and the ball of mush dislodges itself and splats onto the floor. Uchu eyes Keith, giving him perfunctory notice before she snuffles it up noisily.

‘Gross, Uchu,’ Keith wheezes. He draws himself up and stumbles against Shiro, hands clamping on to his shoulder and bicep. He coughs against his own shoulder.

Wide-eyed and deeply grieving the absence of Black’s powers of dematerialisation, Shiro holds Keith steady. He grimaces at Keith's watering eyes and flushed cheeks. ‘Why,’ he mutters, ‘are these things precipitated by me trying to kill you.’

Recovering, Keith draws himself to full height. He’s still a few inches shorter and that means he still looks up at Shiro with those large bright eyes that could sear a hole into the sky. His fingers tighten and loosen on Shiro’s skin, cat-like and familiar. ‘You have a terrible sense of humour.’

‘Yes,’ Shiro agrees. He tries to think of something else to say, but he can’t: he realises they’re standing as if they’re about to break into a waltz. All he can think of is how his hand would feel against the taught strip of Keith’s waist. He swallows. Uchu noses at the bag of doughnuts. He lets her take it and she teleports away again. He doesn't care. He can’t not look at Keith. Can’t not think of Keith.

‘These things?’ Keith asks, starting up at Shiro who looks back dumbly. Keith's freckles are divine. His nose is divine. His eyebrows are divine. Hair divine, lips divine, large and perky ears divine. Snaggletooth divine. Scar divine. Shiro wants to kiss them all. He wants to worship them all and tear at them all and keep each and every inch of this person warm and safe and loved.

‘I remember,’ Shiro breathes. He has to lick his lips before continuing. ‘What you said. I remember. And, Keith…’ He can barely breathe. Keith’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. His eyes are pools of hope; the purest things the universe has ever known. ‘I need to tell you. I –’

Fingers tug at Shiro’s shoulders as Keith levers himself up, pressing mouth to feverish mouth. Shiro freezes, chest close to combustion. When Keith draws back, he's trembling. ‘I’m sorry. I’m – Aw hell. I shouldn’t have done that. Just... I needed to... Just one time...’ He collects himself with a deep breath, as though standing in morning call, Iverson barking in his face. 'Shiro, I'm sorry. That was –'

Shiro laughs. ‘You didn’t even let me say it!’

‘Say… it? Shiro?’ His voice is shaking.

Shiro’s fingers make dents in Keith’s slim arm. ‘You’re hopeless. We’re both hopeless.’ He drops his head against Keith’s shoulder, laughing again. Sweaty, breathless. He feels Keith go rigid against him, arms pinioned against his side. Shiro pulls at the long hair that curls around Keith’s neck, pulls back, and looks into those violet eyes.

‘Keith Kogane, I love you.’ The confession is rushed and airless, but Shiro perseveres. He wants to say it and keep saying it until Keith believes it. ‘I love you. I love you.’

‘But… I thought… I’m… I thought Adam… You and Adam...’

'It's finished. It's been finished since Kerberos.'

'But he's so...  _nice. Good._ '

'Keith, you're a literal superhero.'

'I'm not. I'm just... I'm only me.' Keith gestures at himself as if there's anything "just"or "only" about him. _No,_ Shiro thinks.  _Just and noble paladin. My only._

‘I love you. I love _you_ , Keith.’ With nothing except his whole world to lose, Shiro yanks hard on Keith’s nose. He squawks and bats the hand away. He looks sincerely spooked. It doesn't matter. ‘I love you!’ Shiro roars, losing himself to a strange giddiness. He wants to say it until he's hoarse. He wants to scream it to the lions, the paladins, Coran. Put Iverson in a headlock and make him listen. ‘I love you!’ he howls, throwing his head back and drawing out the _oo_ so long that Uchu perks up and joins in the chorus from amid her mess of doughnut crumbs and torn paper.

There it is, a barest spark of flint in Keith's eyes all dancing with emotion. God, _God._ Shiro loves him. Keith’s eyes narrow. A wry smirk follows. ‘I love _you,’_ Keith says. A laugh bubbles free. 'I love _you._ I said it first.’

‘You did. You're braver than me. But it doesn't matter. I love you,’ Shiro laughs bodily as Keith shakes his head in bafflement. ‘I love you! I’ll keep saying it until you lose your mind and try to strangle me with your horrible jacket.’

‘My –!’ Keith buries his indignation in another kiss. Shiro kisses back and it’s as messy and as clumsy as it should be; warm and unselfconscious as a morning wrapped up in bed.

Shiro breaks off. ‘That’s how much I love you: enough to bear that jacket. I love you in spite of that jacket.’

‘Hate the jacket, love the man.’

‘Now you’re getting it!’ Shiro exclaims. They fall against each other like a pair of drunks, laughing and stumbling. Keith smells so alive; salt and sweat and sleep damp on his skin.

Spent, panting, thrilled, Shiro hoists Keith up with his left arm and waddles with him towards the nest of blankets. Uchu grumbles and darts out of the way as they tumble down together. Not to be put out for long, she joins in the scrum, covering Shiro in wet kisses and powdered sugar from her muzzle.

Past the onslaught, Shiro asks Keith, who lies beneath him, skin glistening like a field of stars, ‘Are you happy?’ 

‘Yes. I’m happy,' Keith snickers, bemused by the questions. ‘I’m happy, Shiro. Are you?’

‘I could be happier…’ He flicks Keith’s chin, tugs on his nose again. ‘Can you do something for me?’

‘There’s nothing I wouldn’t. You know that.’

'I know that. I know that.' His fingers work their way into Keith's thick hair. It's damp and full. Keith's skin jumps, his belly rises and falls like he's just gone head to head with the training bot for hours. 'Keith...'

An eyebrow quirks: 'Shiro?'

‘Can you call me “Takashi?”’

The universe is worth saving for a million reasons. Millions and millions of reasons. But amongst those millions, one shines like the North Star: the unfurling of a smile so pure, so full of love that everything aligns for a dizzy, delirious moment.

‘Takashi,’ Keith whispers, and pulls Shiro towards him, fierce and faithful, ready to be loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fren! https://froldgapp.tumblr.com


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